


Symmetry

by facetofcathy



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Spouse, BDSM, Biting, Bloodplay, Bondage, Comeplay, D/s, M/M, Painplay, Slapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-24
Updated: 2010-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-12 04:07:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/facetofcathy/pseuds/facetofcathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kinky PWP set in an alternate reality where they make a TV show in Vancouver, but Jensen has an injury which causes chronic pain.  Like a lot of alternate universes these guys pop up in, there aren't any wives in this one.</p><p>See the notes for content details, and a link to an optional, more detailed version.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Story

**Author's Note:**

> This story depicts a existing relationship where Jensen experiences chronic pain from an injury and also eroticizes the pain he experiences in a consensual D/s relationship. The story depicts a scene involving bondage, rough penetration, slapping, hitting, biting and resulting bloodplay (mild) and comeplay.
> 
> For more extensive notes that provide more detail on both the chronic pain and kink aspects of the story, please click [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/120584/chapters/168927). You will be able to return to the story by using your back button, or by selecting the previous chapter at the end of the notes. (The entire story is contained in the first chapter.)

Actors, conventional wisdom will tell you, are creatures of habit. Their world is one of rituals performed with casual-seeming fervour. The dab of the make-up sponge, the call of the director, hit the mark and go. Cut and back up, and do it again. Change the setting, change the costume, change the lines, but the structure is the same.

Jensen only had to add to the rituals. The dab of the make-up sponge; the call of the director; push the pain down, down, down; hit the mark and go. Cut and back up; and the pain flows back in, insidious and relentless; and then he does it all again. Does it until he can't any longer.

He makes that call. He wouldn't let anyone else try to. But he hates this new responsibility, resents it, pushes himself too far to avoid having to throw in the towel out where everyone can see.

He drapes the old tie on the doorknob, and he thinks he could try this sort of non-verbal cue on set. The tie is a misbegotten shade of yellow—Jared's of course. Jared has an endless supply of misbegotten clothing, and he could easily take this private form of communication public. All he'd have to do is chose something appropriate to hang outside his trailer to signal he's done. Something white maybe, or hell, why go for subtle? He could just use a towel.

He has, at a guess, another hour before Jared will be home, plus the minimum half-hour of quality dog time Jared will take for himself. Lots of time to get ready.

The pill bottles are lined up in the drawer next to the lube. Jensen usually finds that funny, or at least bitterly amusing. He tosses the lube onto the nightstand and weighs the variables. He doesn't want to be too disconnected from sensation because that makes the exercise pointless, or mostly, anyway. He'd still get off; Jared always gets him off unless it just can't be done. He doesn't want to be too deep inside the beast either. The beast makes everything one undifferentiated haze of sickly green. Rage is red, passion is red. The beast is chartreuse, and he knows it makes him sound high to talk like that, so he doesn't where anyone can hear.

"Do you remember, my son, what it was like to get high?" he says. A twist of lips can be sarcasm. There's no need to assume it looks like a grimace. He is a man known for his sarcasm, after all.

He chooses to take half of one pill; bites it off with his teeth. There's a knife in the drawer, but half the time they go flying when he tries to cut them, and the dogs don't need to find anything like that laying around.

There'd be a nice headline: _Gay cripple poisons long-suffering boyfriend's dog_.

"Oh, fuck off," he says, disgusted with his descent into melodrama.

He lets the drugs hit before he peels out of his clothes. He thinks he likely needs a shower, but he's thrown in the towel, hung the yellow flag, and he's not giving anymore energy to anyone, not even himself. Jared will deal if he's too filthy in whatever way Jared chooses.

He looks himself over in the mirror, right arm, left arm. Tries to gauge the difference; tries to judge if the left is growing fast enough to catch up. The very slight hitch in his septum, that's just enough to catch the eyes that have flashed past his unexceptional pretty face and make them take a second look—it's the pinch of salt in the candy that makes it taste sweeter. The mess of his left arm is acid poured over the whole bag of candy, turning it ugly and poisonous. It is a curling cicatrix of twisted red and pink, cut through with surgically perfect white lines. He's thought of evening himself up, getting a tattoo of a matching nightmare landscape on his right bicep running down to his wrist. Restore the symmetry, because Jensen Ackles is one vain bastard. Everybody knows that.

There's nothing that can match the right leg to the left, though. Not even the show's rubber and glue wizards could do that job.

He strips the bed down to the bottom sheet and one pillow before he lies down. Lets his dick fill on a fantasy of Jared between his legs while some hot tattoo artist hits him with one prick of pain after another, sharp little bites of delicious, candy-apple red.

He hears Jared come in. Hears him go out again with the dogs. Jensen's got a hand on his cock now, stroking lazily, no chance of the rocket firing from such gentle treatment. He's zoned out a little, made himself stop listening for Jared's movements. When Jared slaps his inner thigh good and hard, the only thing keeping him from hurting himself with his reaction is Jared's hand wrapped around his left leg in a safe spot, pinning him down. Jensen grunts out a sound of surprise, and is embarrassed to be caught out making noise over such a small hurt.

"Hands off the goods, Ackles," Jared says. He stands back up and strips out of his raggedy jeans and t-shirt. It's cold enough lately for the rain to feel thick when it falls, but Jared runs too hot for sleeves. He's got a sheen of water on his arms that he rubs off with the shirt before tossing it aside.

"Yes, boss," Jensen says and drops his arms over his head, splays his legs apart a little more, shifts his hips. He knows how he looks, vain bastard that he is, and he knows Jared can read the truth in the mockery of his tone and the campy shimmy of his body.

"Where are you at?" Jared asks, and that's the first ritual question, for all it sounds like a casual remark.

Jensen closes his eyes and tries to answer with the truth. There is no room here for the weakness of self-deception, no pushing himself past his limits to save face. "The engine's running low but the shields are about 50%," he says, and Jared doesn't laugh at him. Jared's too busy getting his head in the game, but Jensen knows he was listening, knows Jared will go at it fast and hard. Slow and relentless is for when Jensen's got more in the tank.

"Pills?"

"After," Jensen says with certainty.

Jared drops the pill bottle back into the drawer, tosses the lube onto the bed.

"When are you next on set?"

Jensen smiles, catches Jared's eye. "Tuesday," he says and watches Jared's eyes go dark with heat while his dick sways like a homing beacon, pointing up a little more, aiming right at Jensen's face. A twist of lips can be a dirty little smile too.

"Oh, now, that's what I like to hear," Jared says, and then he's all business again, pulling open the second drawer and asking, "The brace or the harness?"

"Brace."

Jared makes short work of buckling on the brace, deft like he is with a prop gun and for the same reason. The brace immobilizes Jensen's knee but not his leg, so Jared straps the harness to Jensen's right knee, runs a tie-down from it and the leather wrist and ankle cuffs he's strapped on to the eye-hooks in the bed. Jensen's hands are in exactly the right place for him to get a good grip on the headboard, and his right leg is tied down tight. The ties on the left have enough give to absorb small movements so the knee won't jam inside its cage.

How do you learn how to tie a man down in five minutes or less? Practice, practice, practice.

The brace is a medical device. It was glistening pink silicone and white, hard plastic. Jared sprayed it matte black and switched out the white nylon straps for the same soft, black-dyed harness leather he made the tie-downs from. Jensen wears the harness on his left knee on days when the beast is quieter and he feels like risking more freedom of motion. He's not feeling like a risk-taker tonight.

Jared fusses over the buckles and the straps, loosening them enough to slide a hard foam wedge under Jensen's ass. His legs splay a little wider and he knows he's all out on display. Finally, Jared says, "Thrash test."

They'd broken Jared's old bed the second time they'd fucked, and Jensen gives himself permission to mourn the fact that they never will again before he puts his back into the thrash test. He's held fast, tied tight to the large metal eye-hooks set deep into the wood frame. The small bit of slack on his left side is keeping any stress off his knee. The green spikes a little, but only a little. He's rock hard by the time Jared's finished fussing and is satisfied with the tie-down.

"Look at the boy who hates bondage," Jared says, smug in his mockery.

"Fuck off," Jensen answers, and Jared slaps him open handed across the face. The pain in his cheek spikes bright white, and if this was his first rodeo, he'd have come just from that. He should have known Jared would go for the face first, and he's a little worried that he's too slow tonight to keep up with Jared's pace. He snakes his tongue out along his lips looking for blood. He's disappointed not to taste any.

Jared is definitely going for fast and hard. He'd slicked up a plug while Jensen was busy with the sparks of white and gold from the stinging slaps Jared laid all over his body. Most of his body—a lot of the left leg is off-limits. The plug is pushing at his hole, and Jared won't wait for him to crawl up out of the haze he's in. He tries to focus on relaxing, opening up, but it hurts going in. Like he wants it to. Like Jared wants it to.

Jared slaps the end of the plug, sending a shock of pleasure riding right up Jensen's spine. Jared does it again, hard enough to almost be uncomfortable, and then a third time, and Jensen knows what's coming. It's another ritual, as necessary and welcome as the opening slap to the face. He still howls when Jared hits him hard in the nuts. He feels no shame for giving a voice to pain so hot and bright.

Jared lays off his balls right away and starts in on his cock, the soft skin of his inner thighs, a syncopated beating in double time. Jared's using his hands only tonight, Jensen realizes. He's a master at it, knows how to cup his palm to make some noise, knows how to flatten his hand out into a hard slapping weapon bigger than most paddles. He can flick Jensen's nipples, hitting them perfectly with a hard nail over and over again, until the application of mere clamps would be a relief. He knows how to pinch to titillate, to spark with sharp pleasure, to leave a lingering aching bruise. He's mastered all these skills through devoted practice.

Jared turns his attention back to the head of Jensen's cock, and Jensen is floating in sultry, red heat. Jared sneaks in one more hard slap to his balls that makes Jensen shout and sink deeper into hot, hot white. It could be like sinking into the sun, but Jared won't go as far as Jensen wants him to there, won't give as much as Jensen knows he can take. It's too soon that he has only the memory of the white hot pain and the sweet spike of fear that comes with it.

Another crack across his face is almost as good, drawing a grunt out of him, and this time there's the taste of blood on his tongue.

Jared lands on top of him, knees pressing on Jensen's biceps, forcing his fingers to curl off the headboard until he's held taught by the cuffs on his wrists. He hates it and loves it both, wants his hands free, wants to grab at Jared's dick bobbing in front of his face and get his mouth on it. He knows Jared will get it there in his own time. He opens wide and strains up to try to steal a taste.

Jared laughs at him, calls him a hungry boy, and he is. He's starving for it, and Jared finally drives his cock in hard. Hard enough that Jared's grunting at the abuse he's inflicting on himself. He gets a hand under Jensen's head, tips him to the angle he wants and drives his cock in again. Jensen opens wide to let him in, wants to suck, to taste, but Jared barely gives him time to suck in a breath on the back swing before he's driving in deep again.

Everything is all at Jared's whim now, his choices. He might keep this up until he comes in Jensen's mouth or all over his face. He might rub his spunk into Jensen's flesh with one hand while laying fresh lines of pain down his body with the other. Or he might have some other plan in mind to pleasure himself with Jensen's body.

Jared pulls out of Jensen's mouth and scrambles right off the bed. Jensen lets his eyes drop shut again. He knows the next wave will hit him; he doesn't need to see it coming. Jared gives him something to focus on with another round of abuse to his nipples. Jared using his teeth this time, and that would have been a clue if Jensen hadn't been half out of his head with trying to hold on to the remnants of the throbbing ache in his balls while riding on the jolts of sweet brightness flaring in his nipples.

Jared startles him when he yanks the plug out of Jensen's ass and drives two of his big, slicked-up fingers deep in in it's place. He assaults Jensen's prostate, bang, bang, bang, and Jensen's crying out with each hit and only feels the bite Jared had put over his clavicle when the hits stop.

Jared replaces his fingers with his cock, pounding in harder than he'd done Jensen's mouth and grunting with each thrust. He pulls the quick-release straps to free Jensen's right leg, then hauls it up and presses his whole body against Jensen's thigh, bending him back in a stretch that's on the edge of too far.

Jared's banging against his prostate, slapping his pelvis into Jensen's balls and it's hot red/yellow and dull blue throbbing in tandem. It's not something he can sink into, lose himself in, there's too much frantic fucking going on. He needs some bright golden white—hot, burning starlight.

"Hit me," he says, and he yells it so it won't sound so much like begging.

Jared hits him across the face with an open palm, then follows up with a knuckled backhand. Fresh blood blooms over Jensen's tongue, the sweetness followed by a come chaser when he shoots hard enough to hit his own lips. He thinks Jared must have had a hand in the aim, but he never noticed a touch on his cock.

Jensen slides down off the high as slowly as he can. He can see the green shimmering beast out of the corner of his eye, but it can't compete yet with the feel of Jared smearing Jensen's own come into the skin of his pretty little face. He can feel his lip swelling, bruises blooming on his face and his body, the ache in his balls is like the yellow of an old bruise now, something he can comfort himself with tomorrow. He notices the stretched open slick of his ass, and he feels a small bit of chagrin that he never noticed Jared coming. Jensen Ackles can be a selfish bastard too.

He can make up for that tomorrow. He'll get down on one knee and let Jared fuck his face again. Hell, he'll even do it before his morning coffee.

He feels Jared's finger invading his mouth, prodding at his split lip as he pushes a pill past his teeth. He feels the cool air on his skin as the brace comes off. The beast is bigger, brighter green, but Jensen's battered enough now it doesn't stand a chance at keeping him from sleep.


	2. Detailed Content Notes

This story depicts a existing relationship where Jensen experiences chronic pain from an injury and also eroticizes the pain he experiences in a consensual D/s relationship.

The story is from Jensen's POV and he expresses some negative self image, bitterness, anger, harsh self assessments and discontent. Not all the time, mind, he also has a very good time here and shows some balanced perspective on his current state of being.

The story depicts the use of narcotics as a normalized part of pain management.

The story depicts a scene involving bondage, rough penetration (oral and anal), slapping, hitting, biting and resulting bloodplay and comeplay. Hard hitting of the genitals and face is depicted.

Jared enjoys inflicting pain as much as Jensen enjoys experiencing it.

Safe sex is assumed but not depicted in detail.


End file.
